


The Sexual Education of Simon Snow

by LakeWitch



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anatomy, Asexual Agatha Wellbelove, Awkwardness, Body Hair, Coming Out, Confessions, Crack-ish, Erections, Feelings, Fluff, Foreplay, Frottage, Gay Simon Snow, Hand Jobs, Humour?, M/M, Masturbation in Shower, Minor Simon Snow/Agatha Wellbelove, Mole Kissing, Mutual Pining, Oblivious Simon Snow, On a whim I decided Baz has an outie, Pining Simon Snow, Sex Education, Sex Positions, Snogging, Vegetables, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Eighth Year, proper condom use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:55:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LakeWitch/pseuds/LakeWitch
Summary: It's Spring of Eighth Year when Agatha asks Simon to have sex with her.The only problem with that is: Simon doesn't really know anything about sex.What follows is a crash course courtesy of one Penelope Bunce.And, caught in the crossfire of Simon's education, is a very baffled and aggrieved roommate.
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 28
Kudos: 197





	The Sexual Education of Simon Snow

###### SUNDAY

**SIMON**

There's a slight breeze ruffling my curls, and it feels quite good.

Agatha and I are sitting on the school grounds, on the green grass, enjoying the Spring weather of our final year at Watford ever. Our backs are flat against an old oak tree, and her hand feels small and delicate in mine as we each study our separate subjects. I rub her knuckles with the pad of my thumb, as I try (and fail) to focus on Poli Sci. 

This is nice, though. Here. Together. It's relaxing. 

"Do you want to have sex?" 

I startle. Physically jump, really. Which, admittedly, is not the most eloquent response to your girlfriend asking for sex. (If Baz were here, he'd be howling with laughter.) "What?" I manage to ask. Her question had come out of absolute nowhere. 

Agatha looks at me, like she's bored. She sighs. "I think you heard me, Simon." 

I blink back at her. Sex? Like … cock and fanny sex though? 

We've kissed on the mouth, we've held hands. Sex seems like a big leap, no? Am I wrong? 

"I …" I start slowly. I know I'm already blushing. "Yes?" Yes, right? God, my heart is pounding. 

Where did this come from? 

"Is that a question?" She quirks a perfect blonde eyebrow up. 

"No," I hurry to say. "No, it's a yes." I swallow, and some of the saliva gets caught. I manage to choke out, "Ah, when? When would you like to?" 

She shrugs her shoulders, just once, and squints out at the rolling green hills. "Next weekend might do. Saturday." 

Next weekend? Today is Sunday, so, like, (I look down at my fingers) five full days without sex, then Saturday. Sex. Intercourse. _Making love_. I wince, and manage to bite out, "All right. Yeah." 

She nods and goes back to reading the textbook on her lap.

**PENELOPE**

Without any sort of warning, Simon plops down in a rather haphazard fashion across from me in the library. He knocks into the table, almost spilling my water bottle clean over; I catch it in the nick of time, as he winces—probably smacked his knee on the table leg.

"Simon," I say slowly, removing my hand from my now-stable water bottle. "Everything all right?" 

His cheeks are quite red, now that I look at him properly. He launches his torso over the tabletop so that his face is very close to mine, but he isn't looking me in the eyes. I reach to steady my water bottle again. 

"Penny," he bites out in a hushed tone. "I need to know how to …" He gulps, and seems to freeze. 

I wait. 

When it seems clear he needs a little prompting, I say, "How to what?" I'm trying to be patient here, because he's clearly having some sort of personal crisis. My Greek paper can wait, I suppose. 

"To do …" He's whispering. "Sex." 

"Sex?" I say at my normal volume. 

He looks at me in the eye then, _scandalised_. 

I scoff at him. "Simon." _Honestly_. 

He gulps, and slowly dislodges himself from the tabletop, sinking back into the chair. "Yes, well, Agatha asked me." 

"And you said?" 

"Yes." 

"Simon," I say gently. "If you can't even say the word properly, do you really think you're ready?" 

"Yes!" he says a bit too fast. "Yes. It's just …" He looks around the library to ensure no one's watching or listening in. "I'm not really sure of the, ah, _mechanics_." His blush gets even darker. 

I blink at him. Surely someone, at _some point_ , gave him the talk? "No one's ever … explained it to you?" 

He looks at me, miserably, shaking his head. "Been busy?" 

Right. Sure. Me too, I suppose. But still my mother sat me down for that horrible conversation about changing bodies and periods and how children are made. I frown. "The homes you stay in? The Mage?" 

He shakes his head. 

No. No, I reckon they wouldn't. And I don't want to imagine learning about sex from the Mage, of all people. I shiver. 

"So, um, will you, er, point me in the right direction?" he asks. 

I scrutinise him. He looks so helpless sat there, pleading with me with those eyes. "Of course." How could I say no? I _am_ his family. And it's a family's job to, well, _inform_. "How much time have we got?" 

"Until next Saturday." 

I exhale slow, and close my Greek dictionary with a loud smack. "Let's get to work."

**BAZ**

When I return to our room in the evening, I find Snow sat up in his bed, with back to the wall and blanket draped over his crossed legs. He looks up as I enter, and I notice his eyes widen, I hear his heartrate pick up.

I frown at him, but his eyes dart back to the thing on his lap. 

As I walk closer to my desk, I get a better look at what he's got there—it's a crumpled old comic book, clearly shielding something behind it more substantial. 

I narrow my eyes. What could Snow possibly be _reading_ , and why is he going to such shoddy lengths to hide it? 

I bite back a sigh. 

What do I care? 

I don't. 

It's probably related to another of his and Bunce's schemes. It has nothing to do with me. 

I drop my bag against my desk, and sink down into my chair. Best get working on that paper for Greek, then. So I pull out my textbook, my dictionary, and a stack of paper, and set to it. 

Before long, it's clear that Snow is exceptionally fidgety today. 

I turn to glare at him. 

He's got the tip of a thumb in between his teeth, and is staring unblinking at whatever he's reading. What in bloody hell is he reading? 

I can't ask. I can't reveal how badly I want to know. Because … because we are on a truce this year. And that means we aren't talking. At all. It was agreed that this was for the best, since when we speak we can only ever fight. 

I miss it though. 

Fighting. 

It was better than this silence. This … nothing. It's as if we're two ghosts, haunting the same room in different dimensions. 

Well … it's fine. It's fine and soon the year will be over. We'll graduate and I'll never see Simon Snow … ever again. 

Snow fidgets, shifting his weight around. 

I'll likely be able to find out what Snow's reading, when he leaves the room anyway. He's horrible at hiding places.  
  
  


###### MONDAY

**SIMON**

Five days left until the day I have sex. I'm slowly working my way through the book Penny got me, and I'm currently looking at a diagram of a cross-section of an erect, well, _penis_ , when Baz returns to the room. Thankfully I’ve got the cover hidden by one of the old Superman comics I found during the summer.

Huffing, Baz slumps down onto his back on the bed, and a bit of his button-down rides up on the side. 

And I see skin. 

Clearing my throat, I look back at the diagram. Foreskin, glans, something called a 'corpus sponglosum'. 

Groaning, Baz twists and grabs something from the nightstand. I peer up over top of my book—he's picked up a novel, and is cracking it open above his head. 

I look back down. Testicle. Vas deferens. 

Baz flips a page. 

I look at him again. He's rather long, isn't he? All sprawled out on his bed like this … Don't his arms get tired holding a book above his head? 

Right. Well— 

Anus. Seminal vesicles. 

I look up, then down, and I look up again. 

Baz has a penis. 

Baz has all these things, presumably. 

I mean, it's not like I've seen him starkers. We've always been so careful to avoid each other in that very vulnerable—er— _state_. But he most certainly would have a cock. 

(What am I even thinking, right now?) 

I try to focus on the diagram, and feel my face heating up. 

I squeeze my eyes shut, in an attempt to halt the next thought, but it comes anyway: 

Can vampires get, well, _hard_? Does blood pump the same way? Because Baz is quite pale, and cold. That means lack of blood flow, right? 

Oh God. I shouldn't even be thinking about this. 

I cast another look at Baz, and—thankfully—he isn't paying attention to me. I let my eyes wander over him, and, yeah. There's a bump, a soft-looking bulge, where Baz's cock and balls presumably are, under his trousers. 

Oh God. 

_Shut up,_ I tell my own thoughts. 

Because—fucking hell—this 'sex education' is messing with my head.

**BAZ**

It's late, and Snow has long ago stashed his book away underneath his mattress. It's a book on puberty. Puberty!

I found it easily enough once he'd left for breakfast this morning. 

He's sodding eighteen years old … is it truly necessary … 

Couldn't he've learnt this during one of his summers with the Normals … 

I don't want to think about Snow reading up on changing bodies and hair in places where there wasn't hair before … and, Merlin help me—"wet dreams", and how they're perfectly normal for young boys. 

Snow is lying in bed, and I can tell he isn't sleeping either, because his heartrate is elevated, and he's squirming around on his stomach like he can't get comfortable. 

I pretend to be asleep. But I can't stop thinking about this … 

What on earth has prompted this sudden interest? I don't think I want to know. 

Eventually Snow's bed shifts, and I can tell he's getting up. I quirk an eye open to watch him. 

And … and I think I've … 

Er—What I mean is … 

Simon Snow is stumbling into our bathroom with tented pyjama bottoms. 

I suck in a deep breath. (I think I'd forgotten to breathe there, for a moment.) 

It's … well. Snow has never … 

In eight years, not even once … 

( _Is_ he just going through puberty now?) 

The shower starts. I can't believe this is happening. 

I can hear him step into the shower. I can hear him sigh. 

He's uncapping something, surely not one of my— 

Oh lord. 

There's no mistaking that sound. It's … quite rhythmic. 

I cover my ears and wince, just as my own pulse quickens. 

Simon Snow is masturbating in the shower. Right now. 

I uncover my ears. 

And Snow lets out a soft moan, just under his breath. 

My own blood is … ah, pumping. Pooling hot, and low. 

Sodding vampire hearing … if I were human I'd hear _none_ of this. I'd be able to go about my life, thinking that Simon Snow has never once wanked ever. And that'd be for the best, that'd be quite preferable.

**SIMON**

The scent of bergamot and cedar fills my nostrils.

Baz's liquid soap stuff is really nice. It _feels_ nice. 

I've never wanked at Watford before. Never been unable to sleep because of how painfully hard I've been. 

Has Baz? Ever wanked here, that is? 

Oh that's right, I'm not sure if he can. 

My mind creates an image—all on its own—of Baz standing where I'm standing. All long legs and pale, cold skin. Too-high-nose full of this very scent. 

I think of the diagram in the book. I think about helping myself study by using Baz's body as a test, pointing at the different parts, like: _here_ is the foreskin; you can pull it back a bit to get a better look at the glans … and _here_ is the shaft … 

And suddenly I'm coming in bursts against the shower wall.

  
  
  


###### TUESDAY

**BAZ**

I did not sleep well.

And when I use the bathroom for my morning shower, (while Snow sleeps peacefully, the arse), there's a hint of semen smell in the air. _Snow's_. 

Crumpled-up tissue in the waste bin is probably the culprit. I glare at the crusty white bunches in there, and resist the urge to pick them up. (I am disturbed, but am I _that_ disturbed? Undecided.) 

As I climb into the shower, I notice little bits of tissue stuck on the shower wall. 

I don't know what to do with this. This information. This evidence. 

I'm hard again. 

This is mental. All of it. Snow's latent puberty will likely be the death of me. 

I grab myself, and try to be quick and efficient. And it isn't difficult—all I have to think about is the soft sighs Snow made last night, the squick-squick sounds of his hand pumping his cock with my own soap. And I stare at the clumps of tissue stuck in front of me—thinking of how Snow stood where I'm standing, and did what I'm doing. 

I come in hot bursts against the shower wall, right over Snow's tissue bits.

**SIMON**

At breakfast my eyes dart to Baz, who is frowning at a plate of toast across the hall. He looks tired—his eyes are all dark around the edges.

"So, how are you doing with the book?" Penny asks as she butters a sour cherry scone. 

I wince. 

That book … you could say it gave me some very dangerous thoughts last night. 

Baz … I can feel my face already heating up. 

I don't know what it was … but looking at the diagram, then looking at Baz right there, and then wondering if vampires could get erections … And thinking about _Baz_ with an erection … And thinking about naming the parts of Baz's anatomy … 

I clear my throat. 

Best stop that train of thought while I'm sat in a room with the entire school present. 

"Hmm, well that's no problem," Penny says. She is definitely misreading my facial expression. "We'll shift into a different tactic this evening. The book is only the warm-up." 

"Yeah?" I'm not fully paying attention. I think it's best I focus on something that isn't going embarrass me. Like … like actual breakfast. I snatch a scone and rip it in half. 

"I'll come back to your room after dinner." 

I look up at Baz again. He looks very bored. 

"All right." 

Later on in the day, during class, a random thought comes to me when I'm not really paying attention to the lesson. It occurs to me that I _can_ determine whether vampires can get erections. I can. (But that doesn't mean I should, I suppose.) 

It's simple though—all I'd need to figure out is whether or not Baz can blush. (I've definitely done my share of that lately). 

But, yeah, if Baz blushes, that means blood can pool someplace, right? 

So, well, I go about the day, thinking about that. 

It _is_ innocent enough, of an experiment—that is. I mean, if I figured out how to get him to blush, then I'd know. And … and I'd know.

**BAZ**

Immediately after class, Snow comes right up next to me as I'm walking. I don't bother to look—I know it's him because I can smell him. 

"Baz." 

That was the first word he's spoken to me in months. And I honestly don't know how to feel about it. 

I pick up the pace, and he hurries to keep up. 

"Baz, listen—" He catches onto my arm, and I swirl to face him, already sneering. "You look really handsome today." 

… 

… 

My sneer is gone. In fact, I think my mouth may be open. Not comically open though. But a small—more dignified—way of open. It’s very slight. 

Simon's eyes are searching, scanning my face. Hungrily looking for some sort of reaction there. 

Well he's not going to find what he's looking for, because I am absolutely _not_ affected by his joke. And it is—it certainly has to be a joke. I've seen myself today, and I look as if I just spent a month in a coffin. 

Snow is bloody-well trying to _torture_ me.

**SIMON**

He hadn't blushed, I think miserably, as Penny wheels in a whiteboard.

I'm sitting cross-legged on my bed as I wait for Penny to get us all set up. 

I'd only got Baz to stop scowling at me, which was a win in itself, I guess. 

It doesn't matter. I don't _care_. It'd only been an academic sort of curiosity, really. 

"Okay," Penny says decidedly, uncapping a purple marker. "What do we … well— _you_ —know? And what don't you know?" She scribbles out headings. 

"I know …" I take a breath. "Penis goes in vagina." 

"Mmhmm," she murmurs, writing that down. 

"I know Agatha wants to do it." 

Penny writes 'consensual'. 

"I don't know what positions Agatha would like." 

Penny writes 'positions?', and taps the butt-end of the marker against her chin. "Hmm, I think that sort of choice happens spontaneously. Spur of the moment." 

"Oh." 

Penny twists round to shoot me a serious look. "But most try out missionary to begin with, I reckon." 

"Oh," I say again. 

"Did you read about missionary position?" 

"No." Didn't get passed the penis diagram, really. 

She scribbles that in. "What about birth control?" 

"Oh, ah. S'pose I should get some." 

Penny turns from the board to shoot me another look. "You most definitely need to get some." 

"Agatha's dad might have some stuff for free." (He's a doctor.) 

"Great snakes, Simon. You cannot, I repeat, _cannot_ involve Agatha's dad in this." 

I frown. 

She sighs. "I'll get some condoms from the nurse's office, all right?" 

I straighten. "Yeah?" I'm grateful—having sex is one thing, but going around announcing what I'm doing to medical professionals is a whole other thing altogether. I'm sure I wouldn't even get the words out properly. 

"Yes," Penny says, scribbling in 'protection' under what we know. "Hang on, do you know how to put on a condom?" 

"Nope." 

Without a word, Penny promptly erases 'protection' under what we (I) know, and scribbles it in under what we (I) don't know. She snaps the cap back on the marker, and spins to face me (her skirt floats up a bit when she twirls, I think it's cute). "I think this is a great start-off point, don't you?" 

I nod. I mean, I guess so? 

"Good. Now how about you read up the clitoris in your book—it's very important, Simon." She shoots me another look. "Then we'll resume with proper condom use tomorrow." 

"The clitoris, right." 

"It's in the female anatomy section." She smiles. "I really think you're doing well so far, Simon." 

"Oh, er, thanks." It doesn't really feel like it though. 

She drapes a spare bedsheet over the whiteboard, and rolls it against the wall on my side of the room, and then she's gone. 

When Baz returns later, he shoots the covered board a brief wary glance, then heads straight to the en suite without a single glance my way. 

I sigh, and go back to my vagina diagram. Vagina's seem a bit … I don't know, different. I frown at it, at the little nub thing marked 'clitoris', then I flip the page to try to figure out what's so bloody important about it.

  
  
  


###### WEDNESDAY

**BAZ**

I'm returning from the Catacombs, climbing the steps to our turret—when I hear it, a female voice.

I pause at the door—listening carefully. If Wellbelove is in there with Snow … so help me— 

"That's it, Simon, you're a natural." I blink rapidly. It's Bunce. 

I open the door with one wide, sweeping motion. 

And it's like time has stopped. 

Bunce has turned to gape at me from where she's stood by the whiteboard that has recently taken up residence. 

And Snow … Snow has turned to me, wide-eyed like he's just been caught out, sat on his bed. 

My gaze lowers. 

And I feel my face heat in a flash. 

Simon Snow has a very large cucumber balanced between his thighs. And one hand is frozen on the end of a white condom, a condom that is currently wrapped around the vegetable. There's a condom, on a vegetable, in my room. 

I … I do not know what to do with this information. 

I don't want to stare at the cucumber cock anymore, so I look at Snow's face again. 

And he's biting his lip to keep from _beaming_ at me. 

That man will be the death of me, I swear it. 

Without a word, I pivot and march back out of there. I won't come back again until I'm sure Snow will be sleeping.

  
  
  


###### THURSDAY

**SIMON**

Baz _can_ blush.

I'm thinking it in Magic Words, and I'm trying not to stare too hard at the back of Baz's head. 

He blushed so much last night though, when he caught me with that cucumber. It was embarrassing, yeah. But he _blushed_. 

Which leads to the natural conclusion of: Baz can get an erection. 

So … so that's sorted, then. 

I suppose I should concentrate on different things now, like sex positions. Time is running out, after all. 

Penny nudges me. 

"Mm?" 

Her eyes flick to the front of the class. I follow her gaze to find Miss Possibelf staring right at me—expectantly. 

"Er, sorry, what was that?" I ask. 

Baz twists to look at me over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. 

Miss Possibelf clears her throat. "Can you tell me one of the possible magical uses of Sonnet 18, Mr Snow?" 

I blink at her. Then down at my page. 

Yeah, maybe I shouldn't think about sex at all until the day's lessons are through.

  
  
  


###### FRIDAY

**SIMON**

"Foreplay," Penny announces to the board. "What do we know?"

I blink at her. "Is that really necessary?" 

She rounds on me. "Well, not _necessarily_ necessary. But it's nice to get you in the mood, you know? Get you warmed up? Eased into things?" 

I raise my eyebrows, but I decide to believe her. "Like what?" 

She twirls her marker around as she counts off heaps of things: "Kissing, nipple sucking, blow jobs, hand jobs, fingering, cunnilingus. Rimming even, if you're feeling daring." 

I blink at her. This is all over my head. 

" _You_ know, Simon, licking someone's arsehole." 

A choke escapes me. I … No I do not know. "People do that?" 

"Sure they do. Normally you clean it first, of course." 

Licking arse. My tongue, on an arsehole. It's … well, it's different. 

"It's probably not what Agatha had in mind, don't worry." 

No, I can't even imagine that with Agatha. I don't want to. I can't imagine Agatha doing that with anyone. 

I wonder if Baz would lick someone's arse. 

My mind is instantly assaulted with an image of Baz's face wedged deep between arse cheeks. 

_Oh_. Oh, God. That was a weird thought. Better to quash that down, right now. Wipe it away. Gone. 

"So," I've started talking just to distract myself. "Blow jobs." 

"In other words, cock-sucking," Penny says, furrowing her brow at me. "You have heard about that?" 

I nod. "What if … what if Agatha needs tips too?" It'd only just occurred to me. 

"Then you can help her, I s'pose." 

And somehow that lead to Penny with the cucumber in her mouth, and me wrenching it out of her hands because I think a different method might be better. 

I'm satisfying a random curiosity on how deep I can put it in my mouth, when the door opens. 

"Bloody _hell_!" 

Ah, that's Baz, then.

**BAZ**

I'm racing back down the stairs, with pulse pumping. _Curse_ the amount of blood I drank this evening, because I'm simultaneously blushing and becoming a bit aroused all at once.

Fucking Simon Snow … he is killing me. 

Cucumber in his mouth?? _Why_? Is it simply to torture me? 

I should set myself on fire now, just to be out of my misery. 

Do I need to have a proper talk with him? Do I? 

I groan allowed. (Because I know it'd be the most awkward talk in history.) (Something like, "Snow, please keep your vegetable kink to yourself. If you _must_ suck one, can you please do it in the bathroom?") 

_Fuck_. 

I head straight for the Catacombs, and vow to return late every night for the remainder of the year. Sod sleep, who fucking needs it?

  
  
  


###### SATURDAY

**BAZ**

It's early morning, and Snow is pacing our room.

I squint open my eyes to watch him. 

He's tugging at his hair, and murmuring to himself. 

He spins round, and marches into the en suite. I hear the shower start. Snow never showers in the morning. 

Frowning, I wonder if he's going to wank again, because I can't possibly take it if he is.

**SIMON**

This is it. This is the day.

Penny told me not to overthink it. And I'm _trying_. (I have a lot of practice with repressing thoughts.) But, somehow, I can't quite trick myself into relaxing fully. 

I'm showering, and my cock couldn't be more disinterested in things. I just hope it'll be interested once it's time, time to be … well, interested. 

I exhale hard, as I rub my bar of soap in circles on my stomach. At least I'll smell clean. And maybe once we get going, once Agatha is starkers and I am too … 

Oh God. Agatha starkers? Agatha in the nude? 

I mean, theoretically, I knew that was a part of it. But doesn't it seem like Agatha naked is something I shouldn't be permitted to see? I don't know, like … I mean, if we get married one day, then yeah, that seems part of the territory. But something about it _today_ — 

Right. Penny said not to overthink it. 

And Agatha wants this. So it's good; it's honestly fine.

**BAZ**

Snow looks so nervous and distracted once out of the shower. I almost want to grab him by the biceps and say, "Take a breath, Snow. Now, what's wrong?"

He's shuffling about the room like he hasn't even noticed I'm here. He yanks on his school tie in a rather haphazard, distracted fashion; he throws on a Watford blazer. 

Then he's gone. 

Well … at least I can try to sleep a bit more with him out, since I can never seem to sleep enough anymore.

**AGATHA**

I'm meeting Simon outside the Cloisters at the scheduled time—in order to allow him access to my room.

He shuffles over across the courtyard, meeting my eyes for only a brief second, then averting them quickly. I raise an eyebrow that he doesn't even see. Simon's wearing his Watford uniform, and his hair is still damp from a shower. He's twitchy, wringing at his hands like he's nervous as he gets closer. 

"Hi," he says once he's a metre away. 

"Hello, Simon." 

He stops and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

"Come on," I say, losing my patience here. I turn to lead him inside, holding the door open as he trails in after me. We climb the steps to my room without a word, and I press the door open. 

Here we go.

**SIMON**

A girl’s room. Agatha's room. I stare blankly around the place, at the one empty bed—only a bare mattress. And I look at Agatha's—a white comforter with delicate blue flowers.

It's … well, it's all quite tidy. And smells of Agatha—flowery and girlish. 

"Come sit on my bed, Simon,' Agatha says, moving to sit on it herself—cross-legged. 

I take a breath first, then I move one foot in front of the other until I'm at her bed. 

She pats in front of herself, so I sit across from her. "Nice room," I say, because what else is there to say? 

And before I can take another breath, she's leaning in and kissing me. 

Kissing … right. This I can do. This I know how to do, I'm thinking, as I sink into it. 

It's nice, Agatha has a nice soft mouth. It's always been nice kissing her. 

I notice her shifting and moving around her torso, so I pull away to find out what she's up to, and see that Agatha is shrugging off her button-up. 

I've never seen her in only a bra. It's white and lacy—and she's a bit of cleavage. Lots of skin. Lots of milky, smooth skin. 

I don't know what to do.

**AGATHA**

Simon is clearly nervous, unable to look me in the eye. His face is flushed, and he's looking down at my chest, at my bra.

His hand reaches out towards me, slowly, tentatively, and I feel a very strong urge to roll my eyes. 

I should find it endearing, shouldn't I? The way he blushes, the way he fumbles, and how careful he is with me. But, truth is, I'm not sure it isn't annoying. 

I grab hold of his outstretched hand, and bring it to my chest. 

His warm palm fits flat against my left breast, and we look up into each other's eyes at the same time. Simon is just looking at me, with lips slightly parted. 

Taking a breath, I reach out a hand and touch my palm flat against the space between his legs.  
It's soft— _fleshy_ —under his trouser fabric. 

Simon clamps his mouth shut, and we stare at each other. 

I find I'm not really interested at all to see what Simon has underneath my fingers. 

I … I honestly thought this was what people _did_. I thought I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. 

And I don't feel anything. Should I feel something? 

I don't feel anything. 

A line forms between Simon's forehead, and he retracts his hand slowly. 

I mirror him. 

Simon looks confused, scrunching his brow up and dropping eye contact. "Maybe this isn't …" 

"What we want," I finish, through a heavy sigh. 

His hands squeeze into fists, and he releases a deep breath. "Yeah." 

"Maybe we're just not sexually compatible." I say with a shrug. I neglect to add: maybe I'm not sexually compatible with anyone. 

I'm relieved, if I'm honest. 

"Right," Simon says, deflating a bit. "Er, does this mean …?" 

I smile a little at him. I don't know how he feels right now, and I don't want to hurt him, but I think it's best I'm clear here. "Yes. I think we should break up." It … wow, it feels like a weight is lifting. 

I don't have to be the one anymore … the one who waits on the side-lines, not knowing which battle will be her boyfriend's last. I don't have to be the trophy for when he's finished his quests (will he ever finish? Will he ever be done fighting?). I'm … free. 

Simon frowns, with his forehead scrunched up in thought. "Okay," he finally breathes out. "Okay. Yeah." 

I put my blouse back on, and I try not to smile too much.

**SIMON**

It's dark, and I don't think Baz is sleeping yet—his breaths sound too normal.

"Baz." I turn over to face him. I can sort of make out his outline in the dark. He's lying on his back, with hands clasped over his chest. 

"Snow." 

I worry my bottom lip. 

It's late. And something compels me to speak. Maybe _because_ it's late. I would never speak like this during the day. 

"Have you ever …" Fuck, I squeeze my eyes shut. It's still so hard to put it into words. 

"Have I what, Snow?" He sounds soft. Softer than normal. And maybe that's why I decide to continue. 

"Have you had sex before?" I suck in a breath. 

I can't believe I'm asking him. 

And I think I know the answer … It'd be 'yes', of course. And I can see her, the girl: she'd be lanky and pale, with long black hair that always covers one eye. She'd be sullen and … and just like him. Beautiful, untouchable. They'd stand off to the side, with arms crossed, and they'd laugh together—laugh about someone like me. 

"I'm not going to talk to you about sex," he says, simply. There's an edge to his tone. 

Right. Yeah, of course he wouldn't. 

I flop onto my back, and squint up at the ceiling. 

The silence between us starts to feel charged. I shut my eyes and hope that the feeling goes away. 

"Why are you … asking?" I don't think he'd be asking me this if it weren't night, either. Baz's tone is laced with hesitation. 

I inhale, slow. I'm not sure I want to tell Baz the answer, but I brought it up. 

Shrugging against my bed sheets, I say, "Don't think it's for me is all." 

When I had touched Agatha's chest … it'd seemed a bit wrong, a bit off—like I shouldn't've done that. 

And when she'd put her hand on my pants area, I'd wanted to flinch away. I hadn't though—I'd managed to stay still. But there was nothing there, nothing like that fantastic wank in the shower the other day. This, with Agatha, wasn't exciting, it wasn't anything. 

Plus if I don't feel anything with Agatha—the most gorgeous and lovely and _nice_ girl in whole school, who could I possibly feel something with? (You are supposed to feel _something_ , aren't you? I mean … I wasn't even close to hard. And getting hard is sort of the first step, really.) 

I hear him shift in the bed. "You don't think _sex_ is for you?" I don't know if I'm imagining it, but he seems very interested to know, and he doesn't seem to be laughing at me. 

I shake my head. 

I think he's seen me. Vampire senses, and all that. 

The silence feels charged again. 

"Wellbelove …" 

I shake my head.

**BAZ**

I don't know what to say. I watch Snow exhale slow, and then turn on his side—facing the wall.

I don't know if this bodes well, or bodes poorly. It probably does not change a thing. But … it is interesting. Perhaps the golden couple isn't so perfect, after all. 

Snow falls asleep long before I do. I let the rhythmic rise and fall of his back lull me into sleep.

  
  
  


###### SUNDAY

**BAZ**

Snow is still in bed when I leave for breakfast.

And he doesn't come into the dining hall at all for the entire time that I'm there. 

Wellbelove is sitting at a table alone, far from her usual table with Snow and Bunce. And Bunce is eating alone too, with her back turned slightly from Rhys and Gareth beside her. I see her eyes darting to the doors, frowning a little. 

Hmm. 

I pretend to eat for a while, chat a bit with my minions, before I decide I'm good here. 

On a whim, I wrap a few warm sour cherry scones inside a napkin, and I walk back to our room. 

Snow is still in bed, facing the wall, with curls splayed all over the pillow. 

"Snow?" I ask softly, in case he's sleeping. (I don't really think he is.) (I think he's moping.) 

"Mm." 

Eloquent. 

"Here," I say as I toss the wrapped scones in front of him where he can see them. "They aren't poisoned." 

A hand pokes out of his covers and unwraps an edge to peer at them. "They aren't?" 

"I think the Anathema would object to me poisoning you in here, Snow." 

Snow pushes himself up to sit, and the covers drop to reveal his bare chest, golden and dotted with moles. I wish he'd wear a shirt to bed. Honestly. "You brought me food." It isn't a question. 

"Yes." I fight the urge to roll my eyes. 

"Why?" 

"Because you weren't at breakfast." 

He blinks at me. And I can tell he's wondering why I'd care. I hope he doesn't ask though, because I don't know how to answer it. 

He's just so pathetic right now, maybe that's why I brought it. Obviously he's going through some sort of crisis related to Wellbelove and their sex life. (Ugh, even thinking those words sends a shiver up my spine.) 

Snow doesn't ask why in the end—instead he picks up a scone, and starts eating. 

So, with that sorted, I move to my desk and take a seat. (It'd be weird to deliver him food, then leave immediately, wouldn't it? That'd be as if I made the trip over here purely for _him_ , when the alternative looks better: that I was coming here anyway and it wasn't a bother to tote along some scones on the way.) 

I pull out a textbook, and start reading. Or I pretend to read, anyhow. (Because I have a feeling Snow is watching me, and it makes my skin itch.) 

The door opens to our room right then. 

"Oh, hello Basilton." 

I twist in my seat to glare. "Bunce." And of course it's her—coming in here again like she owns the place. 

She's brought a pot of tea with her, and a bulging paper napkin. I frown because the woman's one-upped me. I hadn't thought to bring tea. 

"Penny," says Simon. 

She moves in through the room to bring her gifts to the Chosen One. I suppress a sigh and return to my studies. 

"You didn't come to breakfast," Bunce says in the barest of whispers. (As if I don't have vampire hearing.) 

A pause. Snow is probably shrugging. 

"So yesterday … how did it go?" she hushes low. 

"Awful," he whispers back. 

I try to suppress a groan. This is stupid. Should I just leave? But this is my sodding room, after all. Bunce shouldn't even be able to get in here. 

"What happened?" 

A pause. 

"Should we go somewhere else to talk?" Bunce continues to whisper. 

I grab a biro, and a sheet of paper, and pretend I'm not the least bit interested in why Snow's Saturday was awful. 

"No," Snow whispers miserably. "I'm determined to stay in bed all day." 

Bunce sighs. "Tell me?" 

A groan. "We got as far as her taking off her shirt." 

The grip on the biro tightens. I don't even know what I'm making notes on. I look down and read: _taking off her shirt._ Bollocks. I'll need to burn this page. 

"What happened next?" 

"She touched me, through my trousers." 

For Circe's sake … Maybe I _should_ leave. 

"And then," Snow continues in his hushed voice, "nothing happened. We both felt _nothing_ , Penny." 

"Oh … Oh, Simon." The bed creaks, and I'm sure they're hugging. "That's okay," Penny continues. "Maybe you're not sexually compatible. It happens." 

"That's what she said," he mumbles. "And then we broke up." 

_Interesting_. I look at my notes, and I'm practically writing their conversation word-for-word. Merlin. I flip a page in my textbook, just to make it look like I'm actually working. 

"But what if I'm not able to have sex at all?" Snow adds under his breath. 

A pause. 

"Do you think you're asexual, Simon? Because that's okay. Plenty of people are asexual—it's just the way some are, and it's nothing to be ashamed of." 

"I don't know what that is." 

"Oh, er … I think it's defined as not being sexually attracted to anyone." 

Another pause. I can practically hear the gears shift in Snow's head. "What even _is_ sexual attraction?" 

"Oh, well … well I suppose it's when you see someone, and you think you'd want to have sex with them. Just the thought of it can cause a—well you know—physical reaction." A pause. "If you've never felt that way before, you might be asexual." 

Snow seems to sit with that for a while. 

"What if …" he starts slowly, "what if you think about someone without clothes on, and that makes you need to wank?" 

Oh. My. Lord. 

Merlin's tits, Snow. 

Bunce considers this, as I look helplessly at my notes. I need to destroy this page—soon. 

If I got up now, it'd be too obvious, wouldn't it? Methuselah help me. 

"Hmm, for this person you've thought about naked," Bunce says slowly, in the barest of whispers, "if you think about sexual acts with them, does that, well, interest you?" 

A long pause. I bite at my thumb, and scribble a doodle on the page. 

" _Yes._ " 

"Then you may not be asexual, Simon." 

"It's a bloke." 

I nearly split my biro in two. 

"But I can't be attracted to _him_ ," Snow continues. 

"Why not? Maybe you're homosexual, then. Nothing at all wrong with that either." 

"But …" 

A pat-pat sound. "You don't have to have it all figured out right now."

**SIMON**

I look at Baz across the room, sat at his desk. He's scribbling something and frowning. He swipes a hand over his face, and turns a page in his textbook. I'm thankful he didn't hear any of that, because it's embarrassing.

I consider what Penny just said. 

I might be _gay_. I'd never considered that before. (Haven't had the time, really.) But the only time I've wanked at Watford ( _ever_ ), was when I'd been thinking about Baz's penis. 

_Baz_ , though. My sworn enemy. Probably the least convenient person to ever find myself attracted to. If he ever found out, he'd probably laugh. Then punch me. Push me down the stairs or something. 

This is horrible. 

Why couldn't I be attracted to Agatha? Wouldn't that be so much simpler? Or some other girl … or boy even. Anyone but _Baz_ … 

"I think I need to lie down," I whisper to Penny. 

She looks back at me with a fond smile. "I'll let you rest." 

After she leaves, I sink back under my covers, and stare at the wall. 

The silence in the room feels charged, now. I'm far-too-aware that Baz is sitting right there at his desk. 

_Baz_. The person I'm … sexually attracted to.

  
  
  


###### MONDAY

**BAZ**

I've folded up that piece of paper, and kept it on my person. When I'm sat in class, I run my palm over the slight bulge it makes in my trouser pocket.

I've re-read it a bit. During breaks. 

The part I'm stuck on is: 'It's a bloke.' 

I would've bet money that Simon Snow was heterosexual. Just … well, look at him—he has a chavvy, rough, stereotypical manly handsomeness to him. And he's been in love with Wellbelove for as long as I can remember. 

Obviously I'm very interested in who this bloke could be—the one who's captured Snow's attention. I suppose when he was wanking the other day in the shower—he was thinking of him. 

At lunch, I do a little survey of the room. 

Obviously the most attractive person here is Snow. But who is a contender for his advances? 

He does spend considerable time with Rhys and Gareth. Though I refuse to believe that "The Belt Buckle" Gareth would be Snow's first choice. I'd never let Snow live it down—truce or no truce. 

I frown around the room. I don't personally find any of these people attractive, by any means. is there a male equivalent of Wellbelove somewhere? Someone blond, radiant, a 'damoiseau-in-distress', if you will? 

Hardly. 

I thumb at the folded paper through my trouser fabric. 

I should stop thinking about this—it'll only drive me madder than I've already been this week.

**SIMON**

I look at Baz, sat with Niall and Dev, and I _sigh_.

"Are you all right?" Penny asks through a mouthful of sandwich. "You've hardly touched your food." 

"Yeah," I say through an exhale. "I'm fine." 

"Simon." Her tone is a warning. 

I shrug. 

" _Simon_." 

Fine. "It's that bloke I mentioned, is all." 

"Oh?" 

"It’s impossible. It’s … it’s never going to happen. And it’s just, I don’t know, _not fair_? That he’s the one person I fancy? Because he'd never go for me.” I finish off with a lame, “And I guess you could say I'm feeling a bit miserable about it." 

"Ah. Well, how can you be so sure he's not interested?" 

"He hates me." 

There's a pause. When I turn to her, she's looking at me in alarm. "It isn't—" She cuts herself off, and eyes dart across the dining hall. 

And just like that, Penny knows. I sigh. "It is." 

"Morgan's tooth, Simon …" 

"I know." 

She blinks at me. "Wow." 

"Yep." I can see Penny's going to need some time to process this. (I think _I_ need some time to process this.) 

"Don't, well, _you_ hate _him_?" 

I look at him. And I don't even know any more. 

I … don't think I do. 

I shrug. He brought me scones.

  
  
  


###### TUESDAY

**BAZ**

I keep feeling Snow's eyes on me—it's _unnerving_.

And constant. 

It's all throughout breakfast, classes, lunch, classes, dinner, and while I'm trying to work on my Magic Words assignment in the library. 

I have a small reprieve from him in the Catacombs. 

But once I'm back in our room, he's sat on his bed—cross-legged against the wall—and staring into space. 

When I slip into my desk chair, I sense his eyes darting to the back of my head. 

My patience is running quite _thin_.

**SIMON**

I wonder if I should tell him. (That I might be gay, that is.) (Not the part about pretty much fancying him.)

I'd tell him because we're sharing the same space, which is basically our shared home, right? 

It's not really any different from a straight bloke and a straight girl sharing a bedroom—except maybe the straight girl doesn't know their roommate is a straight bloke. There's something potentially creepy in that, yeah? Something wrong. 

Baz doesn't change out in the open or anything, but I think I should tell him anyway, just in case. 

"Baz?" 

"Snow." He doesn't even look up from his notebook. 

And maybe it's better than I can't see his face properly—it'll be easier on me in the long run. 

"I think I might be gay."

**BAZ**

I'm startled frozen. I still haven't quite gotten used to the concept of Snow's potential homosexuality, for one. For another, I'd never expect Snow to tell me this—on purpose.

When I turn my head to face him, he's biting at his lip, looking at me. 

My immediate instinct is to say something cutting, something mean. (Because that's always my first instinct with Snow.) But coming out takes tremendous courage. (I should know.) So I have no choice but to be civil here. "Thank you for telling me." 

He blinks at me. Evidently that wasn't the response he was expecting. "You're not … well, surprised? Or, I don't know, upset by that?" 

Surprised? Yes. Upset? Not in the least. 

I choose my words carefully. "I admit, the news does surprise me. Your fairy-tale romance with Wellbelove appeared end-game." (Perhaps I should not admit that I've given the least amount of thought to their relationship.) "But I am not 'upset', as you say." 

He keeps blinking at me. Then he gives a little shake to his head, and breathes out hard. "Okay. Um, good. And thank you." 

I nod, and turn back to my class notes. We've a test tomorrow, after all. 

My eyes don't want to focus on my notes though. 

Something nags at me—something in the back of my mind. It's telling me that this, right now, is an opportunity that I'm about to lose if I do nothing. 

I turn my head again, and Snow is slumped, staring at the far wall again, with a small frown on his mouth. 

"While we're sharing …" I begin. Oh Circe. I suppose I'm going to say it. I swallow, as Snow's eyes dart to me questionably. "I _know_ I'm gay." 

He stares at me, and I watch as my words slowly sink in through that thick skull of his. It's not what I'm expecting, but, a huge grin envelops his face. "You are?" 

"Yes, Snow." 

"How long have you known?" 

"For as long as I can remember." 

" _How_?" 

"How could I know? I just did." I fight the urge to roll my eyes. "How could you _not_ know?" 

He blinks at me (he does that a lot, I suppose.) "Been busy." 

I laugh. But I suppose I see where he's coming from. The Mage has certainly kept Snow occupied. 

"Do you have a boyfriend?" That's his next question. And a flush seems to be creeping up his neck. 

I don't really want to answer that, but I am conscious of the fact that this may be Snow's first maybe-gay-to-gay conversation, and I'd better go easy on him today. "No." 

He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth and chews it for a moment. It seems like he's thinking, which I know is often a struggle for him. "Have you ever had one?" 

I grit my teeth. And then I answer anyway. "No." 

He looks surprised, a bit awed perhaps. "Why not?" 

Merlin, Snow. _Because it's only ever been_ you, _you dimwit._ Instead, I shrug. 

"Seriously, why?" 

"What are you implying?" I frown. 

He waves his hand in the general direction of my person. "Because …" 

"Because?" 

"Well …" He averts his eyes. "I'm sure you'd have no trouble," he clears his throat and adds, "finding someone. That is." 

Is he … "Are you complimenting me, Snow?" Because … because that's unheard of. (And I'm certainly not counting the strange prank from the other day.) 

Snow's face is definitely proper flushed now. He gives an awkward shrug, without looking me in the eye. 

And I don't know what to think. 

So, I suppose I simply won't— _won't think_. "Any more questions, Snow?" I ask it dryly, but something is poking at me, letting me know I don't actually want this conversation to end. 

"No." 

And now I'm disappointed. 

I stare at him for a helpless moment, then I return to my notes.

  
  
  


###### WEDNESDAY

**SIMON**

I was _this-close_ to telling Penny what Baz told me last night, when I realised that I didn't know if it was a secret or not.

Luckily Penny was distracted about a test, and didn't notice that I'd almost blurted something out that I probably shouldn't. 

Honestly I'm shocked Baz is gay, though. I thought I knew everything about him—but I missed that one pretty big thing. (I guess he missed it in me, too?) And he's never had a boyfriend? Like … how'd he manage that? I'd be almost certain the blokes would be all over him, but maybe he's particular about his potential partners. I don't know. He dodged that question last night, and then I'd sort of implied I thought he was fit. But he _is_ fit. It's generally an incontrovertible fact, regardless of who you are. Water is wet; Tyrannus Basilton Grimm-Pitch is fit. 

Anyway. 

I catch up with him on the way to class. "Baz?" 

"Mm." 

He's walking rather fast, and I struggle to match the pace. (His legs are very long, it's an unfair advantage.) "What you told me last night …" 

"Spit it out, Snow." 

_Git_. "Is it a secret?" 

"I neither advertise it, nor hide it." 

"Oh." I blink at that. He's saying it's _not_ a secret, then? "Okay, cool." 

"Quite." 

I realise we're walking to class together—I'm not sure we've ever walked _anywhere_ together. 

"So, um." I start, searching my mind for a topic. 

"Are you ready for the Greek test, Snow?" 

"Greek test?" 

Baz huffs a laugh, and when I look at him, he's smiling slightly. He then tries to drill everything I'm going to need to know in the span of a few minutes. It's … overwhelming. And … and really _nice_ actually.

  
  
  


###### THURSDAY

**BAZ**

"Baz?"

"Yes, Snow?" I sound like I'm annoyed—but it's a secret that I'm not. Generally I enjoy his questions lately. 

I'm in the library, writing a paper, and he's just walked up to my table. 

"Can I sit?" He hovers there with a hand on the back of the chair across from me. It's kind of endearing he'd ask permission, I suppose. 

"You may." 

He slips into the seat, and immediately starts fiddling with his own hands underneath the table. He's avoiding my eyes. "So, er, how's it all going, then?" 

I blink at him. "Fine." 

He nods for longer than necessary. 

"And for yourself?" I ask, just to gently nudge him along. I do have work to do, after all. 

"Oh, brilliant. I mean, good. Pretty good." 

"Right." Was there a purpose to this impromptu meeting? 

"What are you going to do after school's done? Have you got plans for, like, next year?" 

This is quite weird. I set my biro down, and lace my fingers together atop the desk. "University, I hope. I've applied to a few schools—Oxford, Cambridge." 

Snow winces and attempts to smile politely all at once. He's only managed to make himself look ill. "That's great. I, uh, hope you get in." 

"Thank you." I stare at him, and he shifts awkwardly. "And yourself then? Plans for after Watford?" 

A muscle tenses in Snow's jaw as he shrugs. "Never thought I'd live long enough to have a future, really." He attempts a self-deprecating laugh, and I frown. 

That is really quite sad. 

"Anyhow. So, um, how do you know if a bloke is interested in you?" 

Well that'd been a rapid change of topic; I think I've gotten whiplash. 

How to tell if a bloke is interested in you? Well how in Merlin's name should I know? None of them have ever paid me any interest, in the romantic sense. 

I grimace as Snow's true motives occur to me. So he's asking for my advice with his mystery bloke. Wonderful. I'm so thrilled to assist him in courting the man of his dreams. "I suppose it's the same as how you'd figure out if a woman likes you." 

He blinks at me. 

I could sigh, but I don't. "You can ask them, for starters." 

"Oh." He seems to consider this. "But what if it messes up your relationship by asking?" 

I shrug. "That's a risk only you can decide to take. On one hand, he might like you back and you'll become exceedingly happy." It hurts just thinking that, even though I _do_ want Simon Snow to be happy, in theory. Just … well, curse the universe that made Snow probably-gay and interested in someone else. I preferred it when I thought him a total impossibility, rather than a probable one. "On the other, you may damage the relationship, yes. But if he's a true friend, I'm sure he'd get over it in time anyway." 

Snow stares at me, and a small frown forms on his mouth. I suppose he's weighing the options. "I see. Well, thanks. Baz." 

"Anytime," I say through a heavy exhale. I'm practically a wingman now. It's horrible. 

He nods, and then he's pulling himself up. "Er, see you." 

I raise an eyebrow at him, but he's already shuffling off.

  
  
  


###### FRIDAY

**PENELOPE**

Simon looks miserable at breakfast. His head is on the table, cradled in his arms. And he keeps peering across the room at Baz.

I think I liked it better when Simon thought Baz was scheming. 

"Simon, you need to eat something." 

He sighs. 

"Come on," I nudge him with my elbow, and push his own plate closer to him. 

A hand slips out of his little nest of limbs, and grabs onto a slice of toast. He doesn't even lift his head to eat it—just munches from the tabletop. 

"What's wrong?" I say through a sigh. We're alone at the table, so it's safe to talk. Agatha hasn't been coming to meals lately—I think she's taken to eating in her room. And Gareth and Rhys are sitting with Trixie and Keris, for some inconceivable reason. 

Simon frowns at his toast. "You know the person I fancy?" 

"Yes." 

"He told me he's gay too." 

Well now _that_ is interesting news. I squint over at Baz where he's sat at his usual table with Dev and Niall. 

Who would've thought? (Granted, I never suspected Simon either.) 

"That's great." The object of Simon's attraction has the exact same predilection—that's a good thing. Simon sighs into his toast, so I add, "Isn't it?" 

"I don't know. I've really liked talking to him lately." 

"Oh?" 

"Yeah, I … I think I might like him, like, his personality?" 

I laugh, and it isn't _at_ him, exactly. This is all so strange to me though. All of it. After all, it wasn't that long ago that those boys were at each other's throats. Now I suppose they want to, what, suck each other's throats? (I mean hickeys, but I'll admit that sounded weird.) 

Simon sighs. "I think I'm actually considering telling him how I feel." 

"Well, good. It's our last year, after all. Only a few weeks left, if you think about it. Might be your last chance." 

He straightens so suddenly I jump. "It is, isn't it? My last chance …" 

"Probably." I take a bite of my eggs, eyeing him warily for any other sudden movements. 

His hands close into fists on the table. He's psyching himself up, then. "I have to tell him." 

"Nothing to lose." But maybe that's not entirely true. Baz wouldn't push Simon down the stairs for confessing an attraction, would he? 

Simon's posture deflates slightly. "Well … it might be extremely awkward when I'm rejected. Particularly in our room." 

"Maybe he won't reject you." I take another bite of my breakfast. I do need to eat. 

"He probably will," Simon says sadly. "But I'll tell him anyway." 

"Good." I lean my head against his shoulder for a moment, to show my solidarity. Then I'm back to eating my breakfast. (It is the most important meal of the day.)

**SIMON**

Is Friday evening a good time to tell someone you're attracted to them?

I don't know. I suppose it's better than a weekday. This way if he's mad, if I'm depressed, we can have the entire weekend to sort through it and our studies won't really be affected. 

But if I tell him in our room, that could be weird, right? Because what happens afterwards? We just go about our business in the same room together? Sounds terribly awkward, really. 

Maybe I should tell him just as we're both falling asleep. That way, he can turn over and ignore me, and I can wallow in the dark. 

Brilliant, there's a plan. 

So, I wait until I'm in my bed, and Baz is climbing into his, to sit up. "Baz—" 

The lamp is still on. I stare at it, wondering if I should've waited until we were in the dark. 

"That's a lamp, Snow. Don't look so affronted, it has just as much right to exist as you do." 

I blink at it, then at him. 

"You were saying?" 

"Oh, um," I say, and he looks up at me with those dark grey eyes. His hands are behind his head, on the pillow, and he's shifted slightly to face me. He's worn a white t-shirt to bed. 

(I know. I'm stalling.) 

"Yes?" he says. 

"Baz, I …" Oh I am _really_ nervous. I didn't expect to be this nervous. My palms are so sweaty right now, and my heartbeat is in my throat. I wonder if Baz can tell. 

Baz frowns, and his eyes glance down to somewhere below my neck. 

I scratch at the skin in the middle of my chest, as Baz's mouth pinches. 

"Did you ask him how he felt about you?" Baz asks. He's still staring at my chest, and his expression has turned dark, almost angry. 

"Not yet," I say, slowly. He thinks I like someone else. All my questions before … he thought I had someone in mind who wasn't him. 

"Are you going to?" 

"I was thinking I'd tell him how I felt first." My mouth is so dry right now. 

Baz gives a curt nod, and then he looks away—towards the wall on his side of the room. "That works, too." 

I take a breath. 

The room is so still. The window is shut tight, so no outside sounds come through. All I hear are my own ragged breaths. 

It's time. 

"I fancy you." 

Baz's head whips back towards me, and his eyes are fire. He pushes himself up to sit. "You what?" 

"I fancy you." I shrug, and offer what I hope is an apologetic smile. "You're the bloke I've been talking about." And then I add, "Um, sorry," because he's looking a bit fierce over there. "S'pose we can shut off the light now, and go to sleep. Right?" As I'm speaking Baz throws off his covers and swings his legs off the bed so his feet are flat on the floor. He's only wearing boxers along with that white t-shirt. My chest aches, seeing him like this. "Yeah, so, goodnight." Oh Merlin, I'm a mess.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow just said he fancies me.

He's babbling. 

And he looks so bashful and helpless, running his mouth off with nonsense. 

"Where is this coming from?" I interrupt his current sentence, whatever it is. 

He stops his tirade immediately. 

"You hate me," I add, narrowing my eyes. 

"No I don't," and he says it through a sigh, running his fingers through his hair and giving a good tug. "It's confusing, all right? I just know that there's something there, on my end. That I feel something." 

"Feel what?" I need him to be very clear, right now. 

He looks so lost. " _Something_. Attraction. Affection." 

"Again, where is this coming from?" I … I want it to be true. But I need to be sure. 

"I don't know," he says adamantly. "I don't like to _think_ about these things." 

I grit my teeth, because he isn't being clear. "These things?" 

"My _feelings_ , you know? Things that could hurt me, I bury them." I don't know what to say to that, as his eyes beg me to understand. "I don't know how long ... I just know I can't ignore it any more." 

"Oh." I say it once, softly. 

Snow seems pained by all this, but he asks, "How do you feel about me?" 

That's the question that I thought he was going to ask someone else. His damoiseau-in-distress. "I …" I already trail off, and lick at my bottom lip. This is certainly not easy. "I'm afraid I, in turn, harbour a … you could say, _affection_ , for you." I take a breath and add, "As well." 

The tension melts away from Snow's face. He looks a bit awed, really. "You fancy me?" 

I sigh. "Yes." 

The smile that he beams at me then is … well it's radiant, glowing. I can't breathe when I look at it. "For how long?" 

Snow and his questions. "Three years." 

" _Three years_?" 

I grimace. And nod. 

"You could've told me." 

"You had a girlfriend." 

"Oh." He blinks at me. "Right." As if he'd just remembered Wellbelove's existence. 

"Besides, you hated me." 

"Not really." 

"Yes, really." 

"Fair." And he focusses that smile on me again. 

I don't know what to do now. "What do we do now?" 

He shrugs. "We explore this? This thing?" 

I nod. Yeah. Yes. That works for me. 

Merlin’s tits, is this night real? 

We do eventually agree to try to get some sleep, and Snow falls asleep first. I'm left wondering if this, whatever _this_ is, will evaporate by morning light.

  
  
  


###### SATURDAY

**SIMON**

I open my eyes blearily, just as Baz is returning from the bathroom. He smells freshly showered. I lift up a bit on my arm and squint at him as he rummages around in his wardrobe. He's got wet hair, and a button-up and trousers on.

"Morning." 

He turns his head, but not quite all the way towards me. "Good morning." 

Everything's changed now, hasn't it? There's an excitement here, a sense of something big—and probably amazing—to come. 

Smiling to myself, I pull myself out of bed to use the toilet and brush my teeth. 

When I come back out, Baz is piling things into his bag. His hair is still slicked back from the shower. He normally waits until breakfast to run his fingers through it and shake it out a bit. I think I'd like to do that for him, this time, if I can. 

"Where are you going?" I ask. 

He shrugs without lifting his head to look at me. "Breakfast, then the library." 

"Mm," I acknowledge. (Sort-of.) 

I touch my fingertips to his wrist, and he flinches—stood up straight in an instant. 

"Can I?" I lift a hand towards his hair, and Baz quirks one of his perfect arched brows at me. 

"Can you _what_ exactly?" 

My hand lowers a bit. "Touch your hair?" 

He stares at me, as if he can't quite comprehend what I'm asking, but I thought I was being pretty clear there. "Fine." 

I start at a spot just over his forehead, and then I thread my fingers through his hair. It’s soft, wet, silky smooth. Once my fingers are all the way in, flat against his scalp, I ruffle. 

And the whole thing goes from old-timey mobster to damp Albert Einstein. I grin up at it. When I lower my attention to Baz's face—my grin fades away. He looks younger, looking back at me with wide-open eyes—I've got his full attention. 

I fiddle with the end of the loose strand closest to his face. 

"I like your hair," I explain (dumbly). 

He nods. I'm not sure he's even blinked once since I put my hand in his hair. 

"Would you mind if I kissed you?" I ask. And it comes out soft, a bit husky. 

He blinks then, and shakes his head, real slow. "Not at all," comes out, in a whisper.

**BAZ**

Simon Snow is shutting his eyes, and very slowly leaning in to me. I hurry to close my eyes. Then it's there—Snow's mouth. It's soft, cushy, pressing up on mine, and it's certainly taking its time. His warm breaths puff out of his nose, onto my face.

Simon Snow is kissing me. 

This is my first kiss. 

I try to reciprocate, and hope I'm at least giving the impression that I have some idea of what I'm doing.

**SIMON**

Baz's lips are cold.

But they're amazing. 

I can't believe I'm kissing him. Kissing Baz, my surly vampire roommate—hottest bloke on earth. 

My stomach rumbles. It’s a bit loud, I admit. Baz pulls away and shoots me a look that is at least half-amused. 

‘Breakfast?’ I ask, biting my lip. I find I’m looking at Baz’s mouth again; it seems a bit redder now, now that I’ve kissed it. 

‘Yes.’ Baz leans down to pick up his bag and drape it over his shoulder. 

I smile a little, to myself, as we both move to leave our room. Together. As we descend the stairs, I clear my throat, and ask, ‘So, ah, how was that kiss? For you?’ 

Baz pauses on the steps, with mouth pinched tight. ‘Adequate.’ 

‘ _Adequate_?’ 

He rolls his eyes, grabs me by the jaw, and kisses me again—right there, on the stairs. 

I’m smiling against his mouth. He must’ve liked it if he’s initiating, and just doesn’t want to admit it out loud. 

When we break apart, I ask, ‘Want to sit with me at breakfast?’ 

‘Fine.’

  
  
  


###### SUNDAY

**BAZ**

Simon Snow likes to snog. A lot. This is what I've learned in the 24 hours or so since the first one.

He's backing me up against my desk now, always pushing, pushing, pushing. 

And I love it. I can't get enough of it. 

My arse hits the desk edge, and still he pushes into me, like he thinks we'll fuse together as one if he tries for long enough. 

Then I'm up on the desk a bit, and he's wriggling his way in between my knees—mouth stuck to mine, hot tongue swiping across my bottom lip. His hands are on my hips, kneading them in pulses. The _taste_ of him … 

He comes in close, pulling our bodies flush together. 

And there's something hard, digging into me. It occurs to me that— 

"Simon—" I gasp into his mouth. 

Simon Snow is aroused. 

"Mm," he hums, wrapping his hands around my back. 

He ruts against me, just so, just slightly. 

I break away from his mouth, and he opens his eyes slowly. His eyes are dilated, much more black than blue. 

"All right?" he asks under his breath. Snow's lips are reddened, wet a bit with saliva, and his curls are in absolute disarray. He certainly looks a sight. 

I struggle to catch my breath, and then I look down, at the way his Watford-issued trousers tent outwards. It's the hottest thing I've ever seen. My heartrate is very-much up. I swallow, as I feel myself start to fill out. "You're …" 

"Yeah," he says, breathy. "Er, sorry." 

Are we ready to bring our cocks into this, whatever this is? (On careful consideration in the span of two seconds I've decided: I hope so.) "Do you want to keep going?" 

He nods. 

I pull him towards me, well-aligned this time. And Snow lets out a breathy moan at the bit of mutual friction. 

I wish magic worked like in Harry Potter, so that I could put that sweet sound in a Pensieve and die watching it over and over again. 

My hands slip down overtop his arse—he has a meaty arse, it's fucking fantastic. "Is this okay?" I whisper close to his lips. 

" _Yes_." 

I move him against me with the firm grip I've got on him. And Snow melts and writhes, and plants kisses against my jaw. 

The friction is heaven. 

I move him against me faster, harder. I'm panting, now, and—Merlin-help-me—the pressure is mounting fast. 

My bollocks are tightening and all I'm looking at is Snow's face, as he bites his lip and moans, and scrunches his eyes shut. 

He's beautiful. He's so fucking beautiful. 

My grip tightens on his arse and I'm coming, I'm coming hot in my trousers. 

Snow watches me come, with a look of complete fascination.

**SIMON**

I made Baz …

Well, _we_ … 

The way his face twisted up in ecstasy, his mouth a little 'o', the tight grip on my bum, the shuddering pulses that ripped through him. 

Incredible. I'm … at a loss for words. 

Baz's grip relaxes on my arse, and he slumps into me, forehead on my shoulder. I hold him there, and smile, nuzzling my nose into his soft hair. 

"You didn't come," he murmurs. 

"No," I agree. I'm smiling. 

"Use my hand?" He lifts up off my shoulder and holds his flat palm out towards my crotch. 

_Oh_. Wow, yes. 

I move in to it, just to touch lightly, and Baz holds his palm still. He doesn't try to cup it or anything. He's watching, he's watching my cock graze his hand through my Watford trousers. And now, so am I. 

I steady myself with both hands on Baz's thighs, then I move my pelvis, rubbing. 

I don't know, it's good, but maybe it isn't enough. 

So I hold the back of Baz's hand, and I push him into me. His fingers curl at my prompting. And I move his hand more than I move my hips now. 

Baz is panting again, and he hasn't blinked. 

Leaning in, I kiss him again. Then I remove my hand from the back of his, and now he's rubbing me all on his own. 

And I don't know how long I can take it for. 

He grips at me through the fabric, grips around my cockhead. 

"Baz!" I call out. "Fuck!" 

Then I'm coming hard, I'm _floating_ , I'm seeing bloody _stars_. 

Baz finds my mouth, kisses me clumsily, and I kiss him right back. 

I ride out the rest of my orgasm in jerking thrusts against his palm. 

_Wow._

I collapse onto him this time, and he holds me there. I wait for my breaths to return to normal. 

"Good?" he asks. 

I laugh. Because _obviously_. "Mind-blowing." 

Baz rolls his eyes, but he looks pleased. 

I kiss him again. 

He nudges me off of him. "I can't go another moment in these sticky trousers." 

I laugh again, as he pushes past me, and goes into the bathroom to wash himself off.

**BAZ**

I'm living a charmed life.

###### MONDAY

**BAZ**

When I return from the Catacombs, I don't know where Snow's come from, but he's pounced on me in seconds, pushing me up against the door.

"Mmf," I say into his mouth. And I'm hoping this is a standard greeting, moving forward. 

My hands come up around his waist to find warm, bare skin. He's in pyjama bottoms, and only pyjama bottoms. 

Simon attempts to deepen the kiss, and I shove him away in my haste. 

He doesn't frown or look upset in the slightest, doesn't even bat an eyelash. I'm losing my touch. 

"Let me brush my teeth first, Snow." I say as I push past him. 

"Fine," he groans. But I don't think his heart is in it. 

When I return, Snow's pouncing on me. Again. 

We kiss, standing in the middle of our room. And I'm not bothered.

**SIMON**

I like him like this. _Baz_. I like him inside the circle of my arms, I like him kissing me. It's so much nicer than fighting.

I pull away from his mouth, and he tries to chase my lips. I grin, and plant one more peck on him, before I say what I've been working up to say. "Do you want do more?" 

He wrenches his gaze from my mouth, up to my eyes. "More?" 

I nod. "I mean, as in, _sexually_." 

Baz breathes out hard. "What did you have in mind? And yes, I would." 

I laugh, because he's cute (but I would never say that to him out loud, he'd hate it.) "I don't know. Maybe we can take our clothes off?" 

Colour blossoms on Baz's cheeks, as he swallows hard. 

"Or not," I rush to add, because he seems embarrassed. "We can continue as we've been." 

Baz shakes his head. "No, I like your idea." 

I grin. "Yeah?" 

"Yes." 

"Well, brilliant. Yeah." 

Baz starts unbuttoning his shirt as I watch. I interrupt to lean in and kiss him, just the once, and then I let him work. It'll be a good moment before we're on even footing in the dressed department. 

He's got an undershirt underneath the collared shirt. He folds his shirt over one arm and looks around—finally settling on his desk chair. He takes a few steps away from me and drapes the fabric over the back, and then he lifts up and off his undershirt. I admire how the strong, lean, football muscles in his back stretch and flex. 

Baz turns to face me, with both hands on his belt. My eyes rake over him, the expanses of pale skin, a dusting of dark hairs in the centre of his chest, and pale, grey-ish pink nipples—like the colour of his mouth before I kiss it red. At his navel (it's an _outie_ ), is a sparse line of black hairs trailing downwards. I swallow. 

He looks straight into my eyes as he unbuckles, and unloops the belt from his trousers. It falls to the floor with a clatter. 

Next, Baz's fingers come to his flies, and he undoes them slowly. 

"You," he says, nodding to my pyjama bottoms. 

I look down unconsciously. "I'm not wearing pants." 

Baz's eyes take on a fiery intensity. (I used to think this was his look when he was thinking of murdering me, but lately I'm thinking it might be his lust-face.) "Then we'll go at the same time." He hooks his fingers under the waistband of his pants, which I can see bits of past his black trousers, they look like white cotton. 

"All right." I hook my thumbs into mine too, and I bite my lip as I wait for him to make a signal or something. 

Baz slowly eases the fabric downwards, revealing more dark hair, and more and more of a well-defined v-muscle. He stops, and I realise I'm not mirroring him. So, I start to do the same, easing my bottoms down slowly. And Baz watches intensely, without blinking. 

More and more dark hair is appearing, centimetre by centimetre. 

My breath hitches—now there's a tiny strip of greyish-pink skin among the dark. Baz lowers still, and the bit of skin begins to show its shape, and form. Baz's shaft is revealed bit by bit. 

And I almost can't believe it … that I'm finally getting to see Baz like this, after all these years. 

I know I'm shoving my pyjama bottoms down at approximately the same pace as Baz, but I don't even know how far I've pushed down. Can't be bothered, really, when some of Baz's scrotom is now visible. 

It's the hottest thing I've ever seen. I'm starting to be able to feel my heartbeat in my crotch—definitely got a semi at this point. 

Baz's pants and trousers move further, and I can now make out where the glans starts.

My pyjama bottoms drop right down (the elastic isn't great) and pool at my feet. 

In response, Baz lets his fall to the floor. And there he is, all of him … Baz is completely soft, his cock laying flat against his bollocks, above long, strong pale legs. 

He's perfect. 

"Still think you might be gay, Snow?" Baz asks softly, and there's a hint of nervousness in his tone. 

I gesture towards my half-hard cock. " _Yes_." Like, the evidence is right there. 

I step out of the fabric pooled around my feet, and walk closer to him. My fingertips brush at his bare hips as I come closer into his space. 

"Still think you're gay, Pitch?" I whisper, coming in closer to his mouth. 

He sucks in a breath, and hisses, "Yes." 

I kiss the edge of his mouth. "Still want to do this?" 

" _Yes_." Baz's fingers brush over my elbows, them wrap around me, bringing me in closer. 

I close the final space, and bring us flush together. 

He's so cold.

**BAZ**

He's so warm.

Simon Snow is a walking furnace, and I want to hold him like this until I'm nothing but ashes. 

All of him—against me. His hot breath ghosting over the side of my face, and on my neck. Snow pulls in closer and licks the skin under my ear. I arch into it, gasping. 

"Can I touch you," he murmurs. 

"You already are." 

"Your cock." 

Oh. "Yes." 

Snow pulls back a bit within the loose circle of my arms, and slides his hand across my hip, over my stomach, and downwards from my navel. His fingers card through hairs, and he's looking down like he's fascinated. 

"Did you drink enough blood?" The pad of his index finger runs gently down my shaft, and I shiver. 

Fucking hell, Snow. "I think so." Merlin, this is embarrassing. "I think I'm … merely nervous." 

His big blue eyes find mine. "Yeah?" Before I can say anything, he's kissing me on the mouth. His hand between us cups me, and just holds me there as his tongue swipes across my mouth, looking for entry. And I allow it, parting my lips. 

Snow seems to be weighing me as we kiss, his palm lifting up and down in a subtle way to gage my cock and balls' weight. He's so weird. I like it. 

He breaks away, and he's got my saliva shining all around his lips. "You know, we don't have to do anything. This is just nice, by itself." 

I consider him, and those sincere eyes. 

"We could lie down?" he continues. 

I nod. "Yeah." 

He lets go of my crotch and finds my hand instead, leading me to the space between our beds. He hesitates. 

"It doesn't matter which one," I say. 

He looks at my bed likes longed to touched it for years, and then he climbs in, stretching out flat by the wall. 

I take a moment to admire the long expanses of golden skin, all the moles I hadn't discovered until now—he has one on his hip, right next to his perfect cock that is currently significantly hard and falling against Snow's abdomen. He watches me patiently as I look him over. 

I come on to the bed, kneeling beside him, facing him. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, and ask, "Would you mind if I kiss all of your moles?" 

A smile bursts on his face. "Be my guest." 

So I start at his face, at the moles I'm already intimately acquainted with. Snow laughs under his breath as I kiss the one on his eyelid. Then I move downwards, to the ones on his cheek, near his ear, then down on his chest. Snow's shoulder is next, then I nudge his arm up to see if there are any hidden there—and there is, one just above his armpit hair. I kiss it, and Snow attempts to wriggle away, laughing. 

"Ticklish," I mumble against his skin as I search for more. 

Snow sighs, a happy sigh. 

I find myself trailing down his stomach, my breath ghosts over Snow's cock as I move, and he sucks in a quick breath, arching up. 

I look up his body, and see him staring back at me wide-eyed. His eyes are dilated. 

Well … it isn't time yet. 

I kiss the mole on his hip, then travel down his strong legs to find two more. 

"Flip over," I say. 

Snow does, flopping onto his stomach, and I'm met with expanses of well-muscled, golden skin, dotted with moles. Not to mention _that arse_. 

I start at his head, and brush my fingers through his hair—checking for some. I find one, almost in exact centre of the back of his skull. I thumb the hairs apart as I lean in to kiss. 

I lift back up, and make to descend on his upper-back, when I see that Snow is smiling. 

"You know, no one's ever kissed me anywhere but on the mouth before, until you." 

Wordlessly, I brush my hand over his hair, and he closes his eyes—still smiling. 

I lower down, and kiss one right between his shoulder blades. 

My hands smooth over him as I search—one near his left kidney. I skip over his arse to do the legs first. 

Then I lift up back to his arse. He has one on the right cheek. I kiss it softly, and Snow breathes out a sweet sigh. 

I thumb at his arse, wedging it apart just slightly. And I find one mole, inside, near the bottom, near where his arse meets his legs. My thumb brushes it to indicate to Snow where it is—a warning, a request for permission. "You have one here." 

He nods against my pillow, still with that little smile on his mouth. 

I lean in and I kiss it—near one of the most intimate parts of Snow, and he lets me. 

I've kissed them all. And somewhere along the way—my nervousness has slid away—because of the slowness of this, the intimacy. And somewhere around the bits regarding Snow's arse, my body has decided to reflect the deep arousal I feel. 

I reach past Snow to grab the small bottle wedged deep between my mattress and the wall. 

"Turn over," I say, sitting back straight, and uncapping it. 

And Snow does as I say, again, without question. He flips himself over onto his back, and lets his arms drop and splay above his head. He's still hard—thankfully—I hadn't bored him into softness with this indulgence. His cock lays thick and ready, on his abdomen. 

Snow's eyes fall from my face, making paths over my skin, and finally come to rest on my cock—which is currently pointed straight at his head. Snow blinks, then he scrambles to lift up, grinning at my crotch. "Baz, your penis!" 

"Yes, Snow." Circe, he makes me want to roll my eyes, even now. Instead, I drizzle lubricant over his cock, and then swing a leg over to the other side of his body. I lower myself down on top of him slowly. Snow stares straight into my eyes, awed, as I press our bodies flush together, and capture his mouth in a kiss. 

His hands find my arse, kneading, moving me against him. 

" _Oh_ , Baz," he says between fevered kisses. 

"Mm," I agree, against his mouth. 

My hand snakes between our bodies, to grip onto the both of us at once, moving the lubricant around. Snow gasps and bucks his hips up at me. 

I smirk down at him, and stroke us. 

" _Baz_." He's pressing hard into my pillow, tilting his head up, with eyes squeezed shut. 

Snow fumbles between our bodies, and wraps a hand around mine, coming in from the opposite side. And just like that, we're stroking ourselves, together. I'm staring at his face, at the way it displays his pleasure just as showy as when he swallows. 

He's perfect. 

I don't know what I ever did to deserve this. 

Pleasure is mounting, _fast_.

And before too long, we're coming onto our joint hands, our stomachs. 

And I collapse onto Snow, running my fingers up his sides to settle on his shoulders, and he pulls me in tight. His breaths are fast, and he pants heavily against the side of my neck. 

My own heartrate struggle to return to an equilibrium. 

We come down from this slowly. I could live here, naked on top of Simon Snow. 

"I was worried about sex, but I'm not anymore," Snow says under his breath. "As long as I'm with you, I'm having a good time." He laughs, like he knows how lame he sounds without me having to tell him. 

I tell him anyway, then I kiss his soft cheek. 

He runs his fingers lazily up and down my back, and it feels perfect. 

But it is rather sweaty and sticky, so I do pull myself up eventually, and Snow makes a noise of complaint. "I'll be back," I tell him, unable to hide the fondness from my voice. 

I enter the en suite, and wash myself off in the sink. When I look at my reflection—my hair is ruffled, my eyes wide, and face exceptionally relaxed. There's colour on my chest, from that blessed friction against Snow's body. I smile at myself for a moment, then I return to the bedroom with a wet flannel. 

Snow is splayed out where I left him—sated and spent. His soft cock rests against a hip—smeared ejaculate is spread over his stomach and chest, reflecting the light. His eyes are half-closed, the rise and fall of his chest rhythmic. 

I sit on the edge of bed, and wipe the warm, damp cloth over him. 

His eyes open up, and he smiles at me as I clean him.

**SIMON**

Baz is so gentle with me.

I've never had someone clean me like this, _care_ for me like this. The flannel is warm and comforting, and Baz is taking his time. He swirls it in circles over my chest, down to my stomach, in and around my navel with meticulousness, and he cleans up my penis and bollocks too. 

He gets up to put the flannel away in the bathroom, and I watch him move as he does. That little pale arse of his jiggling a bit as he walks. 

Baz is so fucking fit it should be illegal. 

While he's gone, I climb in under the covers, and wait. Breathing in the scent of him, all over.

He returns, and smiles softly at me when he notices I've got his blankets up to my chin. And then he slips in under with me. 

I turn to him, and he turns to me. 

Then I lean in to kiss him, lightly, on his mouth. 

Somehow, I realise, I've gotten everything I've ever wanted. And I hadn't even known I wanted this. "Baz, you're like a dream." 

He laughs and swipes my curls off my forehead. "You're delusional, Snow. But the feeling's mutual." He kisses the side of my mouth. "You're an absolute nightmare," he says fondly, "and you're my most precious dream." 

I laugh. "Now who's lame." And I kiss him, properly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading ❤️


End file.
